by E. M. Snow
Everybody else seems fine with that fact, too—just like Loni had also warned me. It’s disgusting, the way the other students treat him and his friends. The amount of hero worship I’ve seen boggles my mind because they aren’t heroes. They aren’t even good people. Saint’s the worst of them all, and somehow, the most adored.
Which isn’t right. It isn’t fair, and his stupid smirks and heartless laughs at my expense only make me more determined to stay and stick it out.
Two weeks down, thirty-eight to go.
Senior year could officially go add itself to Saint’s orgies.
7
I smell the chlorine long before I reach the pool. It’s sharp and reminds me of the bleach Carley uses to clean her bathrooms, but it’s familiar and comforting and draws me like a moth to a flame. Technically, I’m not supposed to be here. It’s the middle of the night and the building’s supposed to be closed, but Loni informed me that rule is only for the general public. Our student I.D.’s will get us in the rec center 24 hours a day, and if you know how to pick a lock, getting into the pool isn’t a big deal.
Fortunately, I learned how to pick a lock when I was ten. Another of my mom’s upstanding boyfriends taught me that little trick before he was locked up for stealing copper from new constructions.
I’m excited, my heart racing with anticipation. The moment I found out there was an Olympic-sized swimming pool at this school, I became desperate to swim again. I was on Rayfort’s swim team before the accident, and while I have no false hope that I’ll ever be welcomed on any team at Angelview, I can at least enjoy myself in private.
When I step into the cavernous room housing the pool, the air is warm and thick and I’m eager to get into the water. Dropping my towel on a nearby bench, I strip my oversize t-shirt hiding my red swimsuit over my head and kick off my flimsy black flipflops. Moving to the edge of the pool, I secure my long ponytail with the extra band around my wrist and gaze down into the blue tinted water for several moments, breathing in through my nose and holding my breath before I jump in.
The water is cool, but not cold, and I’m smiling when my head pops back through the surface. Taking a breath, I tread water, refamiliarizing my body with the motions needed to keep me afloat. Once I feel loose and warm, I begin swimming to the opposite end. When I reach it, I dive below the water, turn around, and push off the wall as hard as I can. Breaching the surface, I breathe, then resume my strokes.
I do this for a while, until my limbs begin to burn. It feels good, so I keep going, turning all my stress and anger from the last couple of weeks into energy as I push myself harder and harder, swimming one lap after another until I have to force myself to stop.
Clinging to the pool’s wall, I fight to catch my breath, already knowing I’m going to feel this in the morning.
“You’re going to drown yourself if you keep that pace up,” a gravelly voice speaks from above, startling me. I let out a yelp and jump, losing my hold on the wall and nearly going under the water in my surprise. When I’m able to gain my bearings once more, I gaze up and find Liam’s dark stare peering down at me.
“Holy shit,” I pant, dread unfurling in my belly. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
I’m alone with a guy who hates me in a place I’m not supposed to be. This could prove hazardous if I’m not careful.
He scoffs. “You think you’re the only person who comes here at night? I’ve been sneaking into this pool since freshman year.”
“Oh,” I say, sounding lame. It’s at that moment that I realize that Liam’s shirtless. I’ve never seen him with short sleeves, let alone shirtless. The school has two options for uniforms for the guys. The summer shirt, which is short-sleeved, and the winter shirt. Liam only wears the winter-shirt beneath his blazer. Not only that, he’s constantly tugging on his sleeves, as if worried they’ll roll up on him if he’s not vigilant.
I’ve caught myself wondering if it’s a nervous twitch or if he’s hiding something. Track marks? Bruises? Scales?
Now, I’ve discovered his secret.
He’s covered in tattoos. From his wrists to his shoulders, across his broad chest, and down his chiseled stomach. Colorful, intricate images decorate his entire torso. Some are rough looking, like the cross on his upper chest. Some are gorgeous—the harlequin on his left forearm, the 3D heart tattoo on his torso. I can’t help but stare in awe, my eyes traveling along each design and noting every detail.
“Stop it,” he snaps, yanking my attention from his chest back up to his eyes. They’re narrowed and angry, but no angrier than any other day.
“Stop what?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Stop staring. You’ve got a fucking problem?”
I shake my head, caught a little off guard by his defensiveness. “No, sorry, I don’t have a problem. I’ve always wanted one, you know, but scared of needles. Just … just admiring, I guess.”
I feel my cheeks catch fire and wonder if I should clarify that I’m admiring his ink, and not his body. Though, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that his body is utterly drool-worthy.
You hate this guy, remember? It doesn’t matter how hot he is. He’s a shitty person.
The reminder is sobering.
“Sorry,” I say again as I begin moving down the wall toward the ladder. “I’ll get out. The pool’s all yours.”
I reach the rungs and am about to climb up when his voice whips across the water and stops me.
“Don’t. Pool’s big enough for two of us. You just … stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.”
I stare up at him with wide eyes. “A-all right. I can do that.”
He offers me a brittle smile. “This doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re a bitch, though. So, don’t go thinking this is some olive branch or shit.”
My lips curl in irritation. “Don’t worry. No risk of that happening.”
He nods and steps away from the edge to walk to the other side of the pool. I watch him dive in like a pro, and he begins swimming his own laps. Back and forth. Back and forth. After a few more minutes of rest, I resume my own rounds, though at a gentler pace than before. We ignore each other as we share the pool, a temporary and delicate truce as we pretend the other isn’t there.
I sneak to the pool nearly every night after that. As grateful as I am for Loni and her willingness to listen to me whenever I need to vent about how shitty things are at Angelview, nothing helps my stress quite like swimming. To my surprise, Liam is there most nights as well. He doesn’t speak to me, and I don’t speak to him. We swim on our designated sides of the pool, then return to our dorms as if nothing happened.
He hasn’t told Saint or Gabe that we swim together—not as far as I can tell, at least. I’ve no doubt Saint would somehow try to ruin my late-night escapes into that blue abyss because he’d never want me to have something I enjoy. He’d want to taint it. Ruin it so bad, I’d never be able to swim without thinking of him again. I don’t know why Liam hasn’t told him, but I’m grateful. Still, I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before Saint finds out, so I enjoy my swim time while I can.
Some nights, I can’t help but watch Liam. I pretend to be resting, but I’m secretly observing his form as he cuts through the water. He’s an excellent swimmer, and fast. I know he’s not on the school’s swim team, and I begin to wonder why. He could dominate if he joined. A part of me wants to ask him, but I don’t dare.
I’m afraid of what might happen if the silent agreement between us is broken.
I find myself growing more and more curious about him, though. I want to know why he has so many tattoos when the school has a strict rule against them and piercings. I wonder if they have special meanings behind them, or it they’re all just random. I even wonder why he’s friends with Saint, and if he’s really the jerk I initially thought him to be.
After two weeks of swimming in silence together, my questions for him are burning me up inside. I pause in the middle of my current set, and stare over at him a
s he glides to the end of the pool I’m resting on. There’s a brief moment when he reaches the wall where he goes still, and I jump at the opportunity.
“Hey,” I call out.
He stops completely and turns to me with a deep-set frown. It’s more confused than angry, though, and I know I’ve thrown him for a loop breaking the understood silence between us.
“What?” he snaps back.
“Where’d you get all those tattoos?” I ask the first question that pops into my mind that I think he might answer.
He looks even more baffled, as though he can’t understand the language I’m speaking.
“Why do you want to know?”
I suck in my lower lip for a beat before releasing it along with a shrug. “Curious.”
“Well, it’s none of your fucking business.”
I’m disappointed by his response, but I know I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Fine. Was just trying to be nice.”
I turn and get ready to spring back into my laps.
“Nobody’s asking you to be nice,” he mutters, as if he can’t help himself. “Least of all me.”
I ignore him and shoot forward into the water.
I make it to the other end of the pool, then flip over and swim back. When I pop back up, I let out a squeak of surprise when Liam’s face is right next to mine.
“What the hell, Halloway?” I gasp.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just studies me with an unnerving intensity that makes he want to shrink away from him. I keep myself steady, though, knowing any show of weakness would just be more ammunition for him and his asshole friends.
“What’s your deal, Ellis?” he asked, his tone hard, but not necessarily cruel.
“I … I don’t know what you mean,” I murmur like a fool.
He rests his arms on the lane rope between us and leans closer. His biceps flex and I can’t help but notice. “Why are you so curious about me?”
I roll my eyes. “I was just asking about your tattoos, not digging for a background check.”
He narrows his dark eyes in turn. He doesn’t speak for several long moments, and I start to think that maybe I should just call it a night and get away from his weird ass.
Just as I’m about to move to climb out of the pool, he drags his hand through his damp black hair and grumbles, “I did most of them myself.”
I freeze, caught off guard by his actual answer to my question. My eyes sweep over his tattoos again, and I marvel at his skill.
“Really?” I look up to meet his gaze once more.
He nods. “Yeah. Some of the early attempts aren’t that great, but I’ve … practiced.”
I blink. “Shit … yeah. Some of these are really, really good.” That’s an understatement because every single one of his tattoos is a work of art. I swallow hard before continuing. “You’re really talented, Liam.”
He visibly tenses and stares at me like I’m a crazy person. Maybe I am. Why else would I compliment one of my tormentors?
“Thanks,” he replies slowly.
I can think of nothing else to say, so I decide it’s best for me to leave. Turning, I make my way to the ladder, climb up, and grab my towel, leaving the room without a backwards glance even though I feel his gaze burning into my back.
There’s a shift between our dynamic after that night.
We’re not friends, not by a long shot, but it doesn’t quite feel like we’re enemies anymore either. I keep going back to the pool, and he keeps being there. Now, though, he actually talks to me. Not full conversations at first, but small comments and the occasional compliment about my swimming.
After a few days, though, we start asking each other questions. He asks me where I come from. I give him the partial truth and say Georgia. I ask him why he decided to start tattooing himself. I’m pretty sure he also gives me a partial truth when he says he started doing it himself because his parents wouldn’t let him get one professionally done, and then he got hooked on the art. A voice in the back of my head whispers there’s more to it than his parents simply not allowing him to get inked, but I don’t push it.
I’ve got a tenuous understanding with Liam Halloway going on that could possibly make my life a little less terrible. I’m not going to do anything to fuck that up.
After two weeks of swimming and interacting and warming up to each other little by little, I feel like I can ask him for his help. I’ve been biding my time, hoping I can get him to like me—at least a bit—so he might start to feel bad when I’m harassed by his dipshit friends.
I wait until we’ve been swimming for about thirty minutes. We both stop to take a break, meeting in the middle of the pool, which has become our neutral zone. Nothing bad can happen in the middle of the pool.
We chat for a while, batting mundane topics back and forth as we navigate this strange companionship. It isn’t until he’s visibly relaxed, talking easily, that I ask him what I’ve been hoping to for a few days now.
“Hey, Liam, I have a small favor I was wondering if you could help me with?”
He tenses immediately, and I suspect I’m making a mistake.
“What is it?” His tone is low and suspicious. There’s a warning underlying it, as if he knows what I’m going to say.
I gulp, then press forward. “We’ve gotten to know each other over these last few weeks, yeah? I don’t think you hate me quite as much as you did when we first met.”
“Ellis…” The warning becomes more obvious.
“I’m not asking you to be my friend or anything,” I hurry to continue before he can stop me. “I’m just wondering if maybe you could … could you convince Saint to back off? Please? I’ve apologized for what I did, but it’s not enough and I don’t know how much longer I can take his bullshit without going off and losing—”
“Ellis, let me give you some advice when it comes to Saint,” he interrupts me, a shadow coming over his face. “He’s a stubborn bastard who’s used to getting exactly what he wants, when he wants it. If he wants you gone, you should just make it easier on yourself and go home.”
I stare at him, soul-crushing disappointment coursing through me. His words echo Saint’s, and I can see by the firm set of his jaw he’s not going to change his mind. Is he afraid of Saint? Is he just that loyal of a friend?
Whatever the reason, he isn’t breaking rank with Saint, which just puts me back right where I started.
Anger heats my blood, and I release a breath of frustration. “Well, while I appreciate the advice, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Saint: I’m not going anywhere!”
To my surprise, he smirks and shakes his head. “Fuck, Saint was right about you.”
I furrow my brow, my heart beating with panic. “What? What does that mean?”
He just chuckles, and I clutch the rope as my panic blossoms into fury.
“Watch your back, Ellis. You think Saint’s been rough so far? You haven’t seen anything yet.”
With that, he turns and swims away from me to the edge of the pool, climbing out without giving me the answers or the help I was so desperate for. I watch him go, my heart sinking to the bottom of the pool.
8
“Why did I sign up for AP Biology again?” Loni whines, then bangs her forehead against her open book. “It’s awful. Mr. Wilkes is awful. Why did I do this to myself?”
I glance up from my textbook with a wry grin. “Because you want to get into Yale. Regular Biology does not get you admission into Yale.”
She grumbles under her breath. Henry, who is spread out next to her with Dorito climbing all over him, shares an amused glance with me. It’s Friday night, and the three of us are huddled in Loni’s room studying for an exam coming up the following week. She and Henry are laying side-by-side on her bed, and I’m on my stomach on the floor. I need to roll over onto my back, though, to bring feeling back into my elbows, which have been supporting my weight for the past half hour.
I let out a deep sigh and stare up at t
he ceiling, my thoughts wandering to Liam. I haven’t gone back to the pool since he made it clear he wouldn’t help me with Saint. There doesn’t seem to be much left for us to talk about, really, and I can’t stand the thought of staying on friendly terms with him when he won’t lift a finger to defend me against his friends.
Still, despite how angry and disappointed I am, I’m a little sad, too. I kind of miss our late-night swims, which is weird as fuck to realize. Being able to co-exist with him in that space had given me a deceptive feeling of hope that things could get better for me. Without him and that hope, forcing myself out of bed every morning has become a feat of immense willpower.
I wish I hadn’t said anything to him. I wish we could go back to before, when I could still hang onto that hope.
The sudden ping of a phone pulls me from my depressing thoughts, and I glance up to see Loni reading something on her screen. Her eyes light up and she looks down at me as her glossy lips curl into a grin.
“What is it?” I ask, surprised by her growing excitement.
“So, I just got a message from my friend Martha who’s super cool and not a dick that there’s a party happening at a nearby beach tonight. She wondered if we all wanted to go?”
“We?” I almost scoff at the notion that anyone would invite me to a party.
Loni nods her head emphatically. “Yes, we. Martha and her friends don’t run in Satan’s circles. They’ve got no reason to hate you, and she knows we’re friends, so she specifically included you in the message.”
“Let me see.” I’m not going to believe it until I have definitive proof that she’s not just trying to make me feel better about being a loser.
She hands me the phone without hesitation, and to my shock, I see she’s right. Martha did mention me by name in her text, as well as Henry.
I hand the phone back to Loni, a little dumbstruck.